


Unicursal Forms

by Not_You



Series: Watching [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Comeplay, Comfort Food, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Facials, Hand Jobs, Healing, Kissing, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>At this point in their lives, Phil's slightest whim is their command, and there's really nothing Clint or Fury can do about it.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unicursal Forms

At this point in their lives, Phil's slightest whim is their command, and there's really nothing Clint or Fury can do about it. Clint brings him that godawful cookie dough ice cream he likes so fucking much, and Fury actually does housework, grumbling all the while. Phil can see cobwebs and dust from the bed, but he's still not supposed to get up and do anything about them. Some of the most important pipes in his body are held together with spit and sealing wax, so anything more strenuous than sometimes coming to the table for meals, standing in the front door for fresh air, and getting his dick sucked is beyond him.

"You know what would be nice?" Phil says, lounging in the middle of the couch, Fury on one side of him and Clint on the other.

"What?" Clint asks, nuzzling Phil's shoulder because that part of him is fine.

"If I could watch you two together. At whatever level Nick is okay with, of course."

"Well, sir?" Clint says, smirking across him at Fury.

"Perhaps, yes," Fury says, and yawns. He's like an enormous one-eyed tomcat, all lazy and sleepy in the afternoon sun, and Clint suddenly aches to touch him. Not even in a particularly sexual way, he just wants his hands on Fury's skin, to feel the heat of him and the steady thumping of his heart.

"You really are gorgeous, sir," Clint says, and Fury flushes slightly. "You know I'm down to touch you however you'll let me."

"Freak," Fury mutters, with no real heat. Clint just smirks at him and goes back to nuzzling Phil. Nothing happens right now, because it's time for Phil's painkillers, which make him drowsy. Even if Fury had given the okay to touching Clint, they wouldn't want Phil to miss it. So instead they tuck Phil in for a nap on the couch and start cooking dinner.

Fury has revealed very strong feelings about real food for the convalescent, as well as culinary talents that Clint would have never suspected. He's not totally helpless in the kitchen, himself, but has to follow recipes or stick to shit anyone can do, like fried eggs. Fury can actually make really good soup and other stuff without consulting anything or anyone, and Clint has to admit that he's a little impressed. It's soup today, though, since it's warming, filling, physically easy to eat, and a good way to get all the food groups. Hearing Fury say shit like this makes Clint wonder how he ever lived without their current closeness. It's _adorable_.

"I swear you just need an apron and a string of pearls," he says, and Fury rolls his eye.

"Shut up and add the onions."

Clint obeys, scraping green onions off the cutting board and into the roiling broth. "Now what?"

"Now we turn it down and wait a minute," Fury says, putting the lid on.

By the time it's done, Phil is blinking and yawning his way awake. He smacks his lips just once, and it's cute because Phil never does that. He rubs his eyes with both fists like a little kid, and Clint grins. "What did I miss?" Phil mumbles, and Clint laughs, hugging him.

"Not much. There's soup now."

Phil shuffles off to the bathroom and then into the kitchen, where they have one of their cozy family dinners. Phil's meds give him weird dreams, and he tells Fury and Clint about them as they eat. Clint feels another bizarre, almost weepy surge of gratitude, that Phil is here and alive and involved with him in the first place. Phil seems to see it in his face, because the takes Clint's hand and squeezes it before pressing a kiss to his knuckles and releasing him to eat.

After dinner Fury has to go in and do actual work, but Clint is free to cuddle on the couch with Phil. It's frustrating that they have to be so careful about how they fuck and can only do it so often, but it's also kind of an excuse. Not that Clint needs one to snuggle with Phil or Fury, but things have a way of heating up because he's a healthy young pervert and they're a pair of old goats. This way he and Phil really do just cuddle, watching shitty reality TV because Phil likes it, the sick fuck.

"Does anyone besides me and Fury know what bad taste you have?"

Phil yawns. "I told Stark I watch 'Supernanny,' but he might have assumed I was joking."

Clint chuckles, kissing his cheek. "I hope Fury and I can give you something better to watch."

Phil nuzzles Clint's neck and sighs. "I'm so glad you two took care of each other while I was out."

Clint swallows hard, because he'll probably always hate to think about Phil's coma as much as he does now. "We had to," he says softly, and Phil kisses him, holding Clint like he's the one who's broken inside.

"I feel like a jerk for wanting to hear about it," Phil says when they part, and Clint laughs.

"Nah. It was pretty hot. Did you know about his toy collection?"

"I've assumed he must have one and have sent him coupons, but am not aware of the collection's exact contents, no."

Clint didn't see the whole thing, either, but tells Phil about fucking himself on Fury's massive dildo. "He helped me near the end and I got him to come on me, it was awesome," Clint concludes, and Phil laughs so hard it makes Clint fret about his stitches.

"I swear, you're the best thing to happen to Nick in the last twenty years," he says when he can speak, and kisses Clint again.

By the time Fury comes home in the evening, Phil is fully prepared to use all his powers for evil. After Fury has had a moment to relax, Phil kisses him and softly asks if he can watch him touch Clint. "He promises to behave," Phil adds, and Fury chuckles, glancing over at Clint.

"He does, huh?"

"Yes, sir!" Clint chirps, saluting and making them both laugh.

They adjourn to Phil's big bed, and he stretches out beside Clint as Fury sits at their feet, watching. Phil has kept his bathrobe on for warmth, and Fury is fully clothed as always. Clint should be used to being the only one naked by now, but the way they both look at him makes him shiver. He's already mostly hard, and whimpers when Fury ranges over them, his open coat partially enclosing Clint. It's oppressive and soothing at the same time, and Clint sighs. When Fury cups his face in one gloved hand and kisses him, Clint whines so high and sharp he surprises himself, clutching at the edges of Fury's coat.

"God, you're so beautiful together," Phil breathes, and Clint moans, kissing Fury hungrily. He even loops his arms around Fury's neck like a normal person and they just kiss for a while, each touch reverberating through Clint's body in a way that's totally out of proportion and just as amazing. He's rock hard and leaking by the time Fury pulls back, and no one has even touched him.

"Fuck, sir," he whimpers, and Fury growls.

"You get so fucking hard for me, Barton." He kisses Clint again and takes Phil's hand, wrapping it around Clint's cock. "I want to see you come."

"That makes two of us," Phil says softly, kissing Clint's neck as he squeezes and strokes with that devastating precision. He's not teasing at all, and it isn't long before Clint is moaning and coming all over his own belly.

"Yes," Fury growls, "I want him messy."

Phil milks the last few drops onto Clint, wiping his hand on his side. "There."

Fury chuckles. "Good. Now it's your turn."

Clint just lies there and lets Phil straddle him. Fury moves off of Clint and sits on the edge of the bed to hold Phil up as he groans and jerks off all over Clint's chest, making him even more of a sticky mess. Clint cries out quietly when it hits, and Phil groans, shuddering above him for a long time. At last he shifts off of Clint so he can kiss him without getting jizz all over his robe, and after he's done catching his breath, Clint grins up at Fury.

"Gonna give me what I wanted, sir?"

"You know it." Fury's voice is hoarse with arousal, and he grimaces as he finally gets his cock out of his pants. "On your knees, Barton." He stands and gestures to the floor, and Clint scrambles to obey. It's kind of terrible, having Fury's cock so close to his face and not being allowed to kiss it, even, but finally Fury's (scarred, _Jesus_ ) balls draw up, and he grunts and shakes and comes all over Clint's face.


End file.
